Old is Not Always Gold

A few weeks ago, I met a woman who was perfect for me. If you read my last story, you know that she was a combo of an Asian Girl, a Health Whore, and an Artsy Bitch. In short, unlike most of the Chinese women, she was someone who loved dating foreigners, was obsessed with healthy food, and was passionate about the creative arts. I wanted to ask her out the same weekend we met, but the problem was that it was the beginning of a seven-day holiday, to celebrate the Chinese National Day. She had plans to visit her family in Shanghai. So we decided to meet after the holidays.

The day she left for Shanghai, I got a message from a publisher that they were interested in publishing my novel, as long as I got a few things in order. I have seven days, I thought. So I booked a flight to Dali, Yunnan, and arrived at the farmhouse where I had stayed during the summer. It was quiet, lush, and inspirational - a perfect nature studio where I could get my shit done. The other reason I decided to go back to Dali was because it offered a lot of vintage stuff, I can buy something for her, I thought. She had mentioned that she loved jewelry from the 1960s era. It’s not like you meet the perfect woman every day. So I wanted to make an impression.

During the day, I worked on the novel, and in the evenings I went to explore the old town, but I didn’t find anything for her. So I just bought Pu’er tea. Better than nothing, I thought. On the last day in Dali, just before heading to the airport, I discovered a tiny coffee shop. I went in and ordered an espresso. I noticed that there was an enclave adjacent to the front counter, and an old lady was inside it, working with leather. I walked closer, and peeked in. She was petite, almost malnourished, and sewed the leather with her aged hands. Behind her, there was a small rack that carried handbags, pouches, and coasters; all made with soft leather, hard labor, and true love. I picked a small burgundy leather pouch from the rack, and placed it on her table. She turned around, grabbed a matching handbag, and placed it next to the pouch.

“No, no,” I laughed, “I just want to buy the pouch, to put the earrings in,” I pointed at her ears.

She nodded with a smile, put the handbag back on the rack, and pulled out a tangerine glass box from under her table. She flipped it open, and placed it in front of me. It was full of antique earrings.

No way, I thought, what are the chances.

“Hot espresso,” the young barista smiled. “Thank you,” I said, and grabbed the cup. I took a sip, examined the earrings inside the tangerine glass box, but nothing caught my eye. I looked at the old artisan, and sighed. She shrugged her shoulders, jerked her head back towards her unfinished handbag, and the earrings she wore swung like an old pendulum. Why didn’t I notice them earlier? I thought. Her hook earrings were gold, shaped as miniature baskets with a red ball attached to the thin handles on the top. These are perfect, I thought.

“Wǒ xǐhuān nǐ de…” (I like your…,) I said. I didn’t know the Chinese word for earrings, so I pointed at hers. “Wǒ yěshì” (Me too,) she touched her earrings, and caressed the red ball with her index finger. “Where can I get them?” I asked. “Wǒ bù míngbái” (I don’t understand,) she said. Of course, I thought, another reason why I need to learn Chinese.

The young barista walked around the counter, and tapped my shoulders, “let me help you,” he said. “Thank you,” I said, and explained to him that I was looking for antique earrings, preferably from the 1960s era. He spoke to the old artisan, but she shook her head. “No,” he looked at me. “What do you mean?” I asked. “No have,” he said. He explained to me that those hook earrings were handmade by her grandmother. They were special. One of a kind. “You can buy fake ones on Taobao,” he laughed. Taobao is a Chinese mobile shopping platform, where you can literally buy anything. “I want the real ones,” I said. “No have,” the young barista pointed at the tangerine glass box, “buy one of these,” he said.

“Thanks anyways,” I took a sip of my espresso, and walked towards the front door.

“Hāi shuàigē” (Hey handsome,) I heard the old artisan. I turned around. She waved at me, took her hook earrings off, and placed them on the counter. My eyes widened. I looked at the young barista. He winked, and signaled with his eyes for me to go get them. No way, this can’t be real, I thought.

“How much should I offer?” I asked the young barista. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Gěi wǒ 666 yuán” (Give me 666 RMB,) she picked the earrings, and placed them in her palm. 666 is a lucky number in China. That’s almost a hundred bucks! I did the math. I looked at the young barista, who was looking at the old artisan, and I noticed the non-verbal negotiation of sorts between them. I have a weird feeling about this, I sighed.

“Zhè shì miǎnfèi de” (This one is for free,) she put the earrings into the burgundy leather pouch that I had picked earlier. “The leather bag is free,” the young barista said, “good deal bro, don’t think too much.”

I looked at my watch, and then looked at the earrings, “I’ll take them,” I said. I paid the old artisan, thanked the young barista, and hopped in a cab, to head to the airport. On the way, I opened the leather pouch, and looked at them again. She’s gonna love them, my heart kindled.

The next weekend, we met at a Turkish restaurant, and talked about our trips. She told me about her family in Shanghai, and I told her about my publishing deal. She showed me the instant photographs she took during her trip. And I showed her my photographs on my phone. She swiped and swiped, and then came across a photo I took at the coffee shop in Dali.

“Oh my God,” she brought the phone closer to her face, “I love them,” she said.

“I knew it,” I passed her the burgundy leather pouch.

Her eyes sparkled. She opened the pouch, and looked inside, “No way,” she exclaimed, took out the earrings, and replaced them with the ones she wore that day. “What do you think?” she caressed the red balls on her earrings.

“They look perfect.”

“Thank you so much,” she touched my arm, “well, I didn’t buy you anything,” she laughed.

“When I saw these, I thought of you,” I said.

She smiled, pulled out her phone, and took a selfie, “I wanna show them to my best friend,” she texted the photo, and put the phone back on the table. After a minute or so, her phone vibrated, she picked it up, and checked. “I knew it,” she laughed. “What?” I said. “My bestie loves them, I’m gonna buy her a pair.”

“How? These are one of a kind,” I said, “they were handmade by the grandmother of the artisan I bought it from.”

“Don’t tell me you’re so gullible,” she said, and then did a reverse image search on her Taobao app. “Here,” she showed me her phone that displayed the exact same earrings, “see, they’re only 30 RMB,” she laughed. That’s equivalent to $5 USD. WTF! my eyes widened.

“Hope you didn’t pay more than that,” she said.

Oh fuck, I shook my head, I guess old is not always gold.